But it was not quite all, for after her husband had gone to bed, Mrs. Wendte, a tender look on her motherly face, sought out a small, screwed-up paper, and with the air of one who is a little ashamed of what she is doing, dropped into each stocking a something made of sugar. They were not sugar almonds, they were not Salem Gibraltars,—which delightful confections are unfamiliar to London shops,—but irregular lumps of a nondescript character, which were crumbly and sweet, and would be sure to please those who did not often get a taste of candy. It was of little Jan that his mother had thought when she bought the sweetmeats, and for his sake she had yielded to the temptation, though she looked upon it as an extravagance. There were three of the sweetmeats—two white, one pink—and the pink one went into Jan's stockings. Mrs. Wendte had not said anything about them to her husband.
"Well, this is satisfactory," said the Gray Pair, when Mrs. Wendte had left the room, and he was sure of not being overheard. "Here we are all hanging together on Christmas Eve. My dream is accomplished."
"Mine isn't," said the White Pair plaintively. "I always hoped that I should hold something valuable, like a watch or a pair of earrings. It is rather a come-down to have nothing but a bit of candy inside, and a pocket handkerchief pinned to my leg. I don't half like it. It gives me an uncomfortable pricking sensation, like a stitch in the side."
"It's just as well for you to get used to it," put in the Gray. "It doesn't prick as much as a darning-needle, I fancy, and you'll have to get accustomed to that before long, as I've remarked before."
"I'm the only one who has a pink sweetmeat," said the Little Blues, who couldn't help being pleased. "And I'm for a real child. Wilhelm and Greta are more than half grown up."
"Real children are very hard on their stockings, I've always heard," retorted the White Pair, who never could resist the temptation to say a disagreeable thing.
"That may be, but it is all in the future. This one night is my own, and I mean to enjoy it," replied the contented Little Blues.
So the night went, and now it was the dawn of Christmas. With the first light the door opened softly and a little boy crept into the room. This was Jan. When he saw the three pairs of stockings hanging by the stove, he clapped his hands together, but softly, lest the noise should wake the others. Then he crossed the room on tiptoe and looked hard at the stockings. He soon made sure which pair was for himself, but he did not take them down immediately, only stood with his hands behind his back and gazed at them with two large, pleased eyes.
At last he put his hand up and gently touched the three, felt the little blue pair, gave it a pat, and finally unhooked it from its nail. Then he sat down on the floor, and began to put them on. His toe encountering an obstacle, he pulled the stocking off again, put his hand in, and extracted the pink sweetmeat, with which he was so pleased that he laughed aloud. That woke up the others, who presently came in.
"Ah, little rogue that thou art! Always the first to waken," said his mother, pleased at his pleasure.